


Sleep to Dream

by FullMetalBitch



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Drama, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, One Shot, Romance, Sexual Content, jonathan byers is a sweet cinnamon roll
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 22:17:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8031007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullMetalBitch/pseuds/FullMetalBitch
Summary: All his life, Jonathan Byers has always felt like he's half-drowning. 
He is the shadow at the edge of the crowd, a starved plant waiting for a glimpse of the sun, and she, of course, is a creature of light.





	Sleep to Dream

When Jonathan Byers is five years old, his mother sits him down on the sagging brown sofa in the living room and explains to him that, in nine short months, he’ll have a little sibling. She places a pale and gentle hand on his shoulder and gives him a shaky smile when she tells him that their family is about to finally be complete.

“It’s going to be a boy,” he declares, and the shaggy-haired child sounds so convinced that Joyce can’t help but laugh.

“How can you be so sure?” she laughs.

Jonathan shrugs. “I’m not. I just hope it’s a boy.”

“Yeah? Would you like a little brother, Jonathan?” Joyce asks, and Jonathan grins, nodding enthusiastically. Joyce pulls him into a warm embrace, giggling, and whispers how happy she is.

That September, Jonathan is sitting in his first grade classroom during the second week of school when the phone rings, and his teacher sends him down to the office. He makes the trip slowly, hanging his head, certain that he must be in trouble for something or other, but once he reaches the front desk, he finds his father waiting for him. Lonnie awkwardly swings his arm around his son and explains that the whole family’s at the hospital, and that Jonathan’s new sibling is about to finally arrive.

In the car, Jonathan can’t stop fidgeting.

“When did she leave? Is he here yet? Can we go faster? Go faster!”

“Hey, bud, take it easy with the questions, you’re going to hurt yourself. We’re almost there, alright?”

And true, they arrive within ten minutes’ time, and after what seems like years of nerves, the doctor steps in and calls for the Byers at last.

“We had no complications. She did quite well; it was a standard delivery. You’re welcome to come in. Congratulations, Mr. Byers.”

Joyce looks exhausted, dark-shadowed beneath the eyes, but she glows with the victorious joy of every mother who has just conquered going through labor and now revels in the love she feels for her new child. In her arms is a roll of blankets too small to possibly be a baby, but she smiles and invites Jonathan to climb up into the hospital bed beside her.

“You were right from the start. He’s a boy,” she tells him softly, and carefully places the infant into his arms. 

Jonathan holds him as if he’s clutching the last of the world’s gold, terrified somehow he’ll drop him and break him...he’s just so small, and Jonathan’s never felt so important and responsible.

“We’re naming him William,” Joyce says. 

“I like it,” Jonathan decides. “I’ll call him Will. I like you, Will,” he tells the baby, and of course Will doesn’t offer any response, just keeps sleeping peacefully, but even so Will’s life has been changed forever.

\--

“Where’s dad?”

Joyce sighs irritatedly. “He couldn’t get out of work in time to see you.” She’s too kind to add “or so he said.” It’s Jonathan’s eighth birthday and she’s determined to keep her bitter feelings toward Lonnie to herself. “But don’t let that upset you, you’re going to have fun, okay?”

“Okay,” Jonathan agrees, but there’s disappointment in his voice that Joyce can do nothing to dispel.

“Hey, why don’t I give you your present early? Cheer up.” She reaches across the kitchen table and hands him a small rectangular present wrapped in red paper. Jonathan accepts it gratefully, begins shaking the box as Joyce adds quietly, “I hope you like it.”

He pulls off the paper and his mouth drops open. “You got me a Polaroid?”

Joyce laughs at his shocked expression. “Well, it’s all you’ve been talking about for months now.”

“You’re the best,” he says. “You’re the best, you’re the _best._ ”

She helps him open the box and set it up, and then he vanishes outside to test it out. She peeks out from the window and watches him as he wanders the backyard, snapping photos and then excitedly inspecting the image as it slowly surfaces into the paper.

By the time he comes inside that night, he has a stack of Polaroids, and Joyce proudly sticks them to the fridge.

\--

“Listen, I just need some time to do my own thing,” Lonnie insists exasperatedly. 

“You’re _always_ doing your own damn thing. Why don’t you spend some time with your sons?”

“Christ, not this again, Joyce. Give me a break.”

“No. No, I will not give you a break. How about you start acting like a father?”

Jonathan sits on the couch, trying to pretend he can’t hear his parents, while Will, too young to understand, sits beside him with wide eyes. 

“I _do_ act like a father.”

Joyce lets out a scornful laugh. “Bullshit.”

“Would you just give me a break? All I want to do after working all week is go hunting. Is that too much to ask?”

“But you’ve been out all week! It’s not like you’re at work 24/7, you’ve been with Bill, and Charlie, and you’ve been staying out late…” Jonathan hears her voice catch in her throat, the telltale sign that she’s about to cry, and his stomach drops. “I know you’ve been drinking, okay? I know it.”

“All I want to do is hunt,” Lonnie repeats. “That’s it.”

“Then why don’t you take Jonathan with you? He needs his father.”

A heavy sigh. “Fine, I’ll take him.”

Jonathan has no desire to go hunting, much less with Lonnie, but when his dad comes in and tells him to get dressed and get in the car, he does so without complaint.

It could be worse, he supposes, once they get out into the woods. He wishes he had his camera. Lonnie cracks open a beer and instructs Jonathan to shut up and stay still, so he obeys. It isn’t long before he grows anxious; his foot falls asleep and all he wants to do is at least stand and walk around a bit. Lonnie, however, is too content to sit back with his rifle and pretend he’s intently looking for game.

When the rabbit hops across the clearing, Jonathan assumes that they’ll let it be, that Lonnie must be after deer, but his father gets excited and insists that his son take the killing shot.

“I don’t want to,” he pleads.

“Oh, c’mon, Jon. Do it for your old man.”

“But…”

“It’s just a rabbit, it’s not a big deal.”

So Jonathan picks up the gun and heeds his father’s instructions, and the rabbit is standing perfectly still, listening, its ears pricked up at attention, its whiskers trembling, its eyes wide and dark...and then he pulls the trigger, and the gun going off is deafening, and the recoil feels like it’ll push Jonathan right over.

When he dares to look, the rabbit has fallen, its downy brown fur streaked through with blood. Its eyes are still open and its chest is still pounding, its limbs twitching with the last spasms of life...and then it lies motionless, frozen in a red puddle.

“Whew, that was a pretty good shot,” Lonnie praises, but Jonathan feels threatening sobs at the horror of what he has done and tries to stifle them. The tears come suddenly, though, as well as the shame, and Lonnie looks to his son with disgust.

“Really? Man up, Jon, it’s just a goddamn rabbit.”

Jonathan struggles to stop crying, more embarrassed than ever, but before he has a chance to collect himself, Lonnie stands, starts collecting his gear. 

“You fag. I’m taking you back to your mother.”

All the way home, Jonathan stares out the window and refuses to look Lonnie in the eye.

\--

“Fuckin’ loser,” one boy laughs, as the other slams Jonathan against the lockers.

“Leave me alone,” Jonathan growls, trying his best to sound tough and menacing but mostly just praying they’ll let him go free today. The boys are older, probably eighth graders to Jonathan’s sixth. He doesn’t know what he’s done to them, but from day one they’ve had it out for him. 

“What are you gonna do about it? Try and hit me. Just try. Hit me, Byers, I bet you all you’re worth that you can’t,” the boy holding him in place taunts.

“Just let me go,” Jonathan warns.

“Why should I, loser? Nobody’s around to defend you, not your little twerp brother, not your daddy. But he wouldn’t help you anyway, would he?”

“Stop it.”

The other boy laughs. “Byers’ daddy doesn’t love him. Maybe that’s why he’s so fucked up.”

And Jonathan snaps. He struggles to free his hands, and then somehow manages to reach out and smack the kid pinning him in place across the face. In shock, he releases him, and Jonathan falls to the floor. He scrambles to his feet, and then he doesn’t know what’s happening, he’s just so full of rage that he reels back and crashes his knuckles into the boy’s jawbone, knocking him over, but he can’t let it go, he persists, and kneels over him, throwing punch after punch into his face until suddenly he’s lifted and shoved off against the lockers, and the other kid is yelling, “What the hell? What the hell, he’s fuckin’ crazy!”

He gets to his feet, hoping to run off, but the second kid grabs him by his hoodie and nails him in the face. Again. Again. And again. 

“Just try us again sometime, Byers. Fuckin’ weirdo,” the kid spits, and finishes with a rough kick to Jonathan’s side.

He doesn’t remember the walk home. He tries to hide the black eye, the swollen cheekbone, but of course Joyce notices right away.

“What happened to you? Jonathan?”

“Nothing, mom. It’s nothing,” he mutters, and pushes past her.

\--

It’s a beautiful Sunday afternoon during Jonathan’s sophomore year of high school, and he and Will are relaxing in his room. He’s got records from _Rumors_ to _The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust_ , and two shoeboxes full of carefully labelled cassettes, which Will digs through eagerly.

Over the sound of The Clash playing, Jonathan can hear Joyce and Lonnie going at it again, and the usual slamming of objects that typically accompanies their arguments. He sighs, stands, and slams the door to block them out.

“So you really made me my own mixed tape?” Will asks, once the song ends.

“Yeah. I mean, you’re my cool little brother. You liked The Clash, I have to respect that,” Jonathan assures him, and as he hands him the tape, he can’t help but feel a little pride in the kid. After all, it’s not like Lonnie ever looks into Will’s interests, and here’s Will genuinely enjoying the same things Jonathan does.

“Thanks, man.”

“Well, what are you waiting for? Pop it in,” Jonathan tells him.

Will smiles and puts the cassette into the player. The first track, Joy Division, lets out its notes, and Jonathan turns up the volume until neither of them can hear anything except for the music.

\--

“I don’t think dad’s coming,” Will tells Jonathan quietly.

He shrugs. “I didn’t really expect him to.”

After all, an art show probably seemed like something only a fag such as his son could truly enjoy. Jonathan was determined not to let it get him down. Fifteen out of his twenty photography projects had been chosen as displays for the school’s art show, and he was going to do his best to be happy about that regardless of what happened. He’d spent hours blowing up the pictures and arranging them into his display. He’d even gone home, cleaned up a bit, and worn a collared shirt.

Joyce runs into the gymnasium and throws her arms around Jonathan. “Oh, Jonathan, it really looks great,” she tells him. “You did so well!”

“Thanks, mom.”

The crowds mill about, stopping at different displays for a moment and then wandering on. Once in a while they’ll give a compliment or ask about the artist’s inspiration. And Jonathan’s beaming, all too happy to provide the answers, all too happy to see when people appreciate the work he’s done. Some students come to the show, but most of them walk past his work when they see that it’s his.

Then a girl comes by with her friend, and she’s beautiful. In a room filled with art, Jonathan can’t take his eyes off of her, and he knows he’s staring and that someone has probably noticed, Will has probably noticed, but he can’t stop himself. And when she walks by his display, she doesn’t dismiss it like the other students. She stops. She takes it in. She connects. And she doesn’t ask any questions, but he knows she must be thinking about it, and when her friend finally tugs her away by the arm, she lingers for a moment before following.

As she goes, her eyes jump from the photographs to his face, and her gaze holds his for what feels like forever.

Then she walks by and it’s like it never happened. 

\--

Jonathan feels like he’s moving in slow-motion, like he’s blinded and fumbling alone for answers. He finds himself leaning against the high school bulletin board for support. Even as he looks at it, the poster seems foreign, like a prop from a horror movie and not a real thing in his life. But when he blinks, it doesn’t go away, and the pictures of Will accompanied by the question “Have you seen me?” stick around to haunt him.

He’s in denial. He has to be in denial, or he’ll lose his mind. All the stories of child abductions and grisly murders spin through his head until he feels sick thinking that Will could end up like one of those kids, trapped in some sick fuck’s basement or locked away somewhere.

He doesn’t even notice when that girl--Nancy Wheeler, that’s her name--disentangles herself from a group of the Hawkins High School elite to approach him until she speaks up.

“Hey.”

She expresses her condolences, assures Jonathan that Will will be found. It’s _Hawkins_ , after all. It’s such a tiny town, and nothing bad ever happens. The conversation lasts a minute at the most, but it means a lot. Everyone’s been avoiding him (more so than usual), and then she comes up to him in her pastel sweater and her school-appropriate knee-length skirt, and she’s the only one so far who’s had the guts to face him, to look him right in the eye and be brave enough to acknowledge what happened.

And even though she ultimately walks off arm-in-arm with Steve without looking back, Jonathan hopes she realizes just how much he appreciates it.

\--

Jonathan’s heart rate has finally calmed itself down, but he still isn’t exactly positive that he hasn’t lost his mind. 

After all, tonight he fought a monster, watched Nancy vanish into a parallel world, and, perhaps most unbelievably of all, shared a bed with her. Mere weeks before, they’d been nothing more than strangers, two faces that passed and never touched, like ripples in a night pond that glimmered for a moment and then disappeared into the blackness. Now he is barely an inch away from her, lying atop her girly pink bedspread, able to feel the warmth of her body, and here she is, wanting him there.

Sure, she’s afraid, and hell, Jonathan is, too; he’s grateful just to be near her.

Jonathan the fag, Jonathan the creep, the weirdo, is right here beside the most beautiful girl in school. He looks at her, and she’s staring at the ceiling, too afraid to sleep. 

He doesn’t blame her.

\--

When Will comes home from the hospital, Jonathan decides to spend the day with him. It’s not much of a day, since Will isn’t yet well enough to go out anywhere, but he tries to make it entertaining.

They watch a movie together. It’s _The Empire Strikes Back_ , Will’s choice. When it’s over, Jonathan surprises him with a new cassette.

“Awesome! Let’s play it now,” Will says excitedly, and so they get the cassette fired up and just relax while the music fills the room. Jonathan’s about to fall asleep when he hears Will call his name.

“Huh? What’s wrong, Will?”

“Nothing. Nothing, I just...I was wondering how you and Mom have been.”

“Good, definitely much better now that you’re back and okay.” He smiles, and Will starts to smile as well, but it quickly fades.

“Was it bad?”

The question somewhat takes him by surprise. “I mean...it wasn’t easy, Will. Mom had a pretty hard time with it. We thought you were dead. I thought...y’know.” He clears his throat. “But it doesn’t matter. Everything’s better now.”

Will nods solemnly. “I’m really sorry, Jonathan.”

“Don’t apologize. Things are better.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

\--

When he walks up to the Wheeler residence, he doesn’t have anything remotely close to a game plan in mind, so when he knocks and Mike Wheeler opens the door, he needs a second to process it.

“Hey, Mike.”

“Hey. You’re Will’s brother, right?”

“Yeah. Um, is Nancy around?”

Mike smirks knowingly. “She sure is. Hey NANCY,” he yells up the stairs, and then there she is standing on the landing, hands on her hips. 

“What, MIKE?” she yells back, and then notices Jonathan standing at the foyer. “Oh, Jonathan. Hi.” She hurries down the steps and ushers him onto the front porch, closing the door behind her. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, I just wanted to thank you. Y’know, for sticking around during the whole monster thing.”

“Right,” she laughs. “Well, thank _you_ for sticking around during the whole monster thing. I appreciate it.”

“How’s everything been with you?”

“Pretty good. Almost weirdly normal.”

“Honestly, same here. And Steve, you two are…?”

Her smile falters. “Oh. I, uh, I don’t know. It’s just, so much has happened lately. Things have changed. I don’t know if I’m the same girl who thought he was so great.”

“That’s understandable,” Jonathan affirms. “I figure the whole ‘discovery-of-a-parallel-universe’ thing’ll do that to you.” She laughs, really laughs, not like the fake stifled titters she allows herself in public. This is a good laugh, real, and her smile is perfect. “Anyway,” he continues, “I was just checking to see how you were doing.”

“Thanks for that.” 

“I’ll be seeing you,” he says at last, and starts to go. 

It figured. She was lovely, he was a freak. He was okay with it, accepted it, didn’t hold it against her, but he needed to leave. He should’ve known their little adventure was just a result of necessity. They had both felt crazy. They’d needed each other. Now that was done, and she was going to move on, so he should, too.

“Jonathan. Wait.”

He stops in his tracks, turns around to face her. She takes a step forward, a baby deer on unsteady new legs. There’s some kind of glimmer in her eyes that Jonathan can’t quiet identify, and then she’s right there, wrapping her arms around him, placing a hand on the back of his neck, and her lips car-crash into his own and he closes his eyes to keep the world around him from spinning.

And he kisses her back.

\--

Whenever Jonathan imagines losing his virginity, it’s in the abstract way that a total virgin would imagine losing his virginity: usually he pictures Debbie Harry or Stevie Nicks, and then he lets it go and forgets about it. He’s never pictured losing his virginity to Nancy Wheeler, of all people, but here he is, and she’s half-clothed on the bed looking like the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

She reaches for his belt, undoes it, and yanks it from the belt loops. Then she’s reaching for his zipper, pulling down his pants, and almost without realizing it he’s unzipping her skirt. Their mouths are everything, meeting and parting in between their gasping breaths. Her hair is enveloping everything in its sweet scent, and then he’s unhooking her bra, reaching for her breasts. Her hands palm his bare chest; everything is warmth and skin and breath.

“Yes,” Nancy whispers in between their sloppy kisses. Jonathan traces his mouth down her neck, tasting her, and she’s squirming beneath him, practically begging. Her hands venture downward, pulling at the waistband of his underwear, and suddenly he’s pulling away.

“Nancy, I--” he begins, but can’t match any words to explain what he’s feeling.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, and kisses him again.

“Are you sure you want this? I don’t want you to regret it, or...or…”

“Of course I want this. Do _you_ want this?” There’s a pause, and then Nancy’s eyes grow wide with understanding. “It’s your first time, isn’t it?”

His cheeks feel warm. “Yeah, it is.”

“It’s okay,” she says soothingly. “Trust me. I want this. And if you want it too…” She trails off.

His qualms melt like honey. He lets his body take the lead, and then their arms entangle, their lips entangle, and when she lets him in, it’s as if he’s finally found where he belongs.

\--

Jonathan finally feels like things have returned to normal. He’s got a girl who’s crazy for him, a loving family doing just fine without their neglectful dad, and an acceptance letter from NYU.

Yet still, nothing is ever really what it seems in Hawkins. So when Nancy arrives at his doorstep with a gas can in one hand and a flashlight in the other, he nods at her.

“We’ve got work to do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Stranger Things has so many sweet cinnamon rolls. Dustin is a cinnamon roll, Eleven is a cinnamon roll, Mike's a cinnamon roll. But I think Jonathan's my favorite cinnamon roll of all. I wanted to explore his character a little bit, so here's a little sample of what I imagine Jonathan's life has been like, and how I predict it will go following the finale.
> 
> Wasn't sure of Will's birthday so I gave it an educated guess. That goes for a couple of things with Lonnie, etc. If anybody knows for sure that some of my details are wrong, let me know and I'll change it up.
> 
> Thoughts?
> 
> (Also if you understood that the title was a song reference then I LOVE YOU.)


End file.
